"Tell me your name, little one. I promise I shall treasure it forever."
– A Lonely Voice
I stood frozen in shock.
Weren't they on the same side?
And what the hell did the manual mean by Entertain the Widow? Had the entire battle—the trial, the suffering, the blood—been nothing more than entertainment for her? And because she'd enjoyed herself, we had simply… passed?
I looked toward the Widow.
She still held the crumbling remains of the Statue of Sacrifice by its head. As she walked across the surface of the lake, the corpse steadily disintegrated. Chunks of stone and rotting flesh broke away, greedily swallowed by the blood-red waters beneath her feet.
By the time she reached us, only dust remained in her grasp. She blew softly into her palm, scattering the ashes across the lake.
Then her attention turned to Miranda.
The Widow circled her slowly. Once. Twice. Three times. All while humming that same haunting lullaby—the one that echoed across the lake and made my skin crawl.
She inspected Miranda with open fascination, tilting her head at unnatural angles. At one point, her neck twisted completely around, yet her smile never faltered.
Then she stopped.
Her eyes widened.
She pointed directly at Miranda—then suddenly turned toward me.
I tried to move, but my body refused. Not out of fear or paralysis. It simply… ignored me. As though my limbs no longer belonged to me.
The Widow stepped closer. Far too close. Her face hovered inches from mine, excitement gleaming in her eyes.
"Hmm…"
She began inspecting me. Carefully. Methodically. Like a buyer evaluating livestock.
Between her humming, I caught her muttered observations:
"My, what lovely hair…"
"Such an unusual height…"
"Oh? A birthmark…"
"And so much residue…"
When she mentioned the residue, her smile widened.
I felt deeply uncomfortable.
After several long seconds of silent staring, she skipped over to Bo and Belinda. The two immediately tensed, weapons raised and spells at the ready.
The Widow ignored their hostility completely.
"Greetings, children," she said, her voice bright and motherly. "You may know me as the Widow of the Lake." She spread her arms. "But Widow is fine."
Then she pointed at Miranda. "Your battle was delightful. So very delightful." Her grin stretched wider. "Especially you."
She stepped closer, her finger nearly brushing Miranda's nose.
"Your strength. Your pride. Your will. Your desire."
She giggled.
"Oh, great warrior… what is your name?"
Miranda remained silent.
The Widow began poking her cheek. Repeatedly.
"The Bastion," Miranda finally said.
The Widow froze. The smile vanished.
"Oh."
She walked a few steps away and kicked a small amount of sand into the lake.
"You can trust me," she said, kicking again. "You can tell me your name. I promise I won't do anything."
Miranda folded her arms. "According to Bureau regulations, archaic entities are to be given our callsigns. Normal humans are advised to provide only first names. False names if necessary."
The Widow tilted her head, then rotated it fully around with a sickening crack.
"But before entering this dungeon…" Her eyes fixed on Miranda. "You used your real name."
Silence.
Miranda sighed. "The name I used contained a falsehood."
The Widow's eyes lit up. "Oh?"
"And his name is fake," Miranda added, pointing directly at me.
The Widow appeared in front of me instantly. I never saw her move.
She began humming again. "Tell me your name. You can trust me. I'm very trustworthy."
She patted my shoulders, then my arms, my face, my hair, and my ears. The inspection felt worse than any monster attack.
"What is your name?"
I smiled politely. "The Hanged Man."
She pinched my cheek. Hard.
"Ow."
"No."
She released me and began singing in a playful, mocking tone:
"No one wants to tell me their naaaame~ I am so very saaaad~ Is it the blood? The stitches? What makes me scary~?"
She circled me once more, then stopped behind my ear and whispered:
"So cute, Q."
I froze.
The Widow giggled. "See? I can rhyme too."
A chill ran down my spine.
She turned toward Bo and Belinda. "What about you two?"
The pair exchanged glances.
"Bodie."
"Belinda."
"NO!" Miranda snapped—too late.
The Widow merely sighed and returned to me, wrapping both arms around my shoulders.
"Nobody tells me their names," she said, sounding genuinely upset.
I frowned. "They did."
"Oh, little boy." She patted my head. "So old… and yet so young."
I had no idea what that meant.
The Widow suddenly gazed toward the distant forest, her voice softening.
"You know… that youngster worked very hard. He wanted his story remembered. He broke his back building this place." Her smile twitched. "Then a certain person arrived."
She poked my cheek. Hard.
"The rules changed. The difficulty increased. The story changed." She giggled. "But he seems satisfied. For now."
Her smile widened. "He is never truly satisfied."
That single statement told me far too much. She knew what had happened outside the dungeon. She knew the God of Games. And she spoke of him like a misbehaving child.
Then, suddenly, she clapped her hands. The strange atmosphere shattered.
"Well! That concludes my unscripted time!"
She bowed dramatically. "Thank you for listening to my rambling."
She pointed toward the lake. "Follow me. I shall lead you to the next floor." A pause. "Try not to fall."
She pushed me.
I stumbled forward.
The Widow dissolved into blood. The lake erupted. A bridge of wet, living crimson rose beneath us.
The Widow stood atop it and bowed again. This time, her voice changed completely—ancient, hollow, and sacred.
"I thank you for your efforts. You have freed me from the parasites feeding upon my lake. You have freed me from my boredom. For this service, I shall guide you."
She extended both arms.
"Come. Cleanse this land. Cleanse its curses. Cleanse its misfortune." A smile curved her lips. "Cleanse its blessings."
Then she added quietly:
"After all… she knows you are here now."
Miranda frowned. "Who?"
The Widow smiled.
"Lily."
She began walking.
The bridge crumbled behind her with every step. We ran after her, none of us wanting to discover what lurked beneath the red waters.
As we crossed the lake, the Widow hummed. The bridge lashed out at any monster that approached—blood turning into whips, hooks, and hungry mouths. Everything it touched was torn apart and absorbed.
She never acknowledged the violence.
She simply continued her song.
A story. A lullaby. A fairy tale.
Of a village blessed by the forest and protected by the lake. Of a lonely, frightened girl who never wanted to be alone again. So she made a bargain with a demon.
And in exchange… The blessings of the land became curses. The forest grew hungry. The lake turned red. And the girl was never alone again.
The story of Lily.
Lily of the Forest.